


Best In Show

by sarilikefairy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack Treated Seriously, Cute Dog Content, FBI Agent Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal has A Dog, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarilikefairy/pseuds/sarilikefairy
Summary: After three people involved in a dog show circuit go missing, Jack Crawford sends Will Graham undercover as a competitor to find out who's behind the disappearances.Hannibal Lecter, a frequent competitor, is not pleased with this development.Dog Show AU! The premise is crack but the execution isn't. No dog deaths, I promise.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 78
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I take liberty with dog show rules, don't yell at me dog show people.
> 
> Dedicated to Charlie

Will Graham dashes through the trees. Heart racing. Feet pounding. The sounds coming from his own body…but also from another’s. He dodges a bush, leaps over a log. No avail. His moves are mirrored, his shadow doggedly following him. 

Will attempts to catch his breath as his nearby stalker attempts to catch him. Just a few more feet and he’ll have made it to the clearing. 

One. Two. Thre-

Will is brought tumbling to the ground, everything a mess of limbs. His assailant pins him down and...licks him.

“Winston! Winston! Okay boy, that’s enough!”

Winston continues his merciless attack. He’s earned it.

Will laughs, but upon seeing six other canines heading his way, scrambles up before it turns into a full-on dog pile. Leading his pack inside their house, Will takes one last look at the woods and debates for the millionth time whether it would really be so bad to disappear into the wild. Just him and his dogs. No more teaching. No more killers. No more ominous summons from Jack Crawford. 

A yap from Buster pulls him out of it. Will looks down to see Buster, Ellie, and Harley whining for dinner as the other dogs sit politely by their squeaky-clean bowls. 

“You wouldn’t last 10 minutes in the woods, huh?”

Winston answers by curling up on his large bed by the fireplace.

\-------

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA

Will walks down the dreaded path to Jack’s office, allowing himself one more thought towards the woods before knocking on his door. 

“Come in!”

Will opens the door slowly, as if doing so will give Jack the time he needs to change his mind and send Will away after all. 

“Will! Please, sit down.”

Will takes the same approach to sitting as he did to opening the door. No success.

Jack observes at the nervous man before him. “You don’t have to look like that, you know.”

“Like what?

“Like I’m about to ask for your kidney”

“No. No, just my mind. That is why I’m here, isn’t it? 

Jack stares for a beat.

“I have a case that requires your special skill set.”

“And what skill set is that, I wonder?”

“Dogs.”

That is...not what Will was expecting. He perks up despite himself. 

Jack smiles. Finally hooked him. The BAU had been wanting to pick Will’s brain for the better part of a year. His heightened empathy was a hot commodity in these halls, but Will was slow to lend it out. Jack understood, though. Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean that something is good for you. Will was sick of people. Dogs, however…

Jack dives in. “Three people have gone missing in the Baltimore area over the last two years. Abel Gideon, a surgeon, was the first. Miriam Lass, one of our own, 8 months back. And a week ago, Tobias Budge, a cello instructor and shop owner. Each one vanished without a trace. No notes. No motive. Nothing disturbed in their homes. No evidence left behind. Just plucked out of their lives as if they were never there to begin with.”

“I’ve yet to hear how dogs come into this.”

“Besides the manner and general location of their disappearances, they all have one thing in common. A hobby. Dog shows.”

Will barks out a laugh despite himself. 

Jack sighs. “I thought someone with seven dogs, who he seems to enjoy more than his friends and coworkers, would be able to take this a little more seriously.”

“I love my dogs, Jack, but they’re animals. They’re not meant to be paraded around. There’s a difference between my kind of dog ownership and people like...Tobias Budge.”

“And Miriam Lass! Our former colleague. So maybe _try_ to show a little more respect.”

Will shrinks down in his chair. He knows Lass is a sore subject for Jack. And the pain Will feels radiating off Jack is proof enough that that hasn’t changed. 

“I’m sorry.” Jack nods, so Will continues, “So you think the person responsible for these disappearances is involved in this...dog show ring?”

“Baltimore’s small. These people participate in the same show with the same folks every year. It’s a tight knit community. And a competitive one.”

Will nods. It does add up. But he’s still stuck on what exactly Jack wants him to do here. There’s no evidence, no traditional crime scene, no lead suspects.

“So what? You want me to interrogate every person involved in this show? This unsub is smart, Jack. Competent. Meticulous. And like you said, the community is tight. If the FBI starts sniffing around, they’ll be able to prepare themselves.”

“That’s why I needed you specifically. Will, I need you to go undercover and enter the competition.”

“What?”

“You have dogs. You know dogs. You love dogs.”

“I JUST told you I-”

“Your empathy makes you an excellent liar. I don’t care what your personal feelings are because I know you’re able to keep them personal.”

Will’s more offended than flattered, but knowing Jack’s unique form of persuasion, that may have been the goal. 

“Fine, let’s say I _am_ able to act like I tolerate any of that inanity. Just because I know dogs doesn’t mean I know anything about that world. I’d be kicked out before I’m able to introduce myself. And what? Are you going to give me some purebred? I’d have to spend time with the dog, Jack. It would have to live with me, and my mutts are too rough and tumble for some prissy show dog. Or are you making me move out of my house completely? How undercover is ‘undercover?’ Who’s going to watch my dogs?”

“Can you give me some credit? I have thought about this, you know.”

Jack gives Will a moment to calm down before continuing.

“Undercover in this case just means we will give you a non-FBI associated identity. Since your address isn’t public record, your Wolf Trap home should be safe to stay in. As to the dog, I want to use one of yours. It’ll make it more authentic. And before you say anything, yes, I know they’re all mixes. My plan is to get the head of the competition in on this. I’ll ask him, on behalf of the FBI, to make a special allowance for rescue dogs. It can be a bonus charity thing, I don’t care. We’ll figure it out.”

“And what if the head of the competition is our man?”

“Well. Then we’ve got our enemy close. But for what it’s worth, I’ve met the guy and let’s just say I’d be surprised if it was him...you’ll see for yourself soon enough. We’ll get knowledge on the whole thing from him. He should be able to walk you through the basics, at the very least. I really think we can do this, Will. What do you think?”

What did Will think? Will thought this entire thing was absurd. But he had to admit Jack seemed to know what he was getting them into it. ‘Seemed’ being the operative term. You never knew with Jack. He exuded a lot of confidence and Will hadn’t let himself get sucked in enough before this to know if it was misplaced or not. Will sighs. If he was being truthful, this really wasn’t the worst thing Jack’s ever asked of him. Worse comes to worst, he turns up nothing and gets paid to spend time with one of his dogs for a number of weeks. 

“Okay.”

Jack smiles and hands Will the file. 

“Let’s get started then.”

\-------

BALTIMORE, MD

That limb needs adjusting. 

Dr. Hannibal Lecter bends down and re-positions Anzu’s front right paw slightly forward. 

That’s better. 

Standing back up, Hannibal waits patiently with the other three Hokkaido owners as the judge inspects their companions. Finally reaching Anzu, the judge circles the dog. Then takes a step forward to pat her down, feeling her muscle curvature, proportions, and coat. 

_All perfect, of course_ , Hannibal can’t help but think, as he maintains firm eye contact with Anzu, silently comforting and instructing. 

The judge finishes and signals the dogs to take a final trip around the ring. The crowd applauds as Hannibal and Anzu glide around the ring with grace. They move as one, Hannibal’s made sure of that over the years. As the four Hokkaidos come to a finish, the judge points to Hannibal first. He loses track of the order after that, as it hardly matters.

Hannibal gleams with pride as he and Anzu are presented with the blue ribbon. The crowd cheers as the beautiful man with his beautiful dog exit the ring. The other competitors shake his hand as he leaves, Hannibal graciously shakes back with promises to cook them all dinner one day. It doesn’t matter if he’s actually sincere so long as they believe he’s sincere. 

Finally alone for a moment, Hannibal kneels down to give Anzu a treat and a kiss. His girl. Nothing can ruin this moment.

“Hannibal!”

Hannibal turns to see Franklyn and his Shiba Inu, Kami, excitedly approaching. Hannibal’s walls go back up - only Anzu gets to see them down. 

“Franklyn, how nice to see you, if unexpected. I thought the Non-Sporting Best of Breeds were yesterday.”

“They were! Just came to see you and Anzu, actually. Congratulations on another win!”

Hannibal gives a tight smile. “You’re much too kind, Franklyn.”

Franklyn shrugs it off, an overly dramatic gesture that reveals the blue ribbon pinned to his side. 

Very well, then. 

“And I see congratulations are in order for yourself and young Kami.”

“Thank you! Can you believe it? Best of Breed, only her second year!

“I cannot.” 

“Well I never would have gotten into this if not for you, so thank you for everything.”

“I merely recommended you get a dog for therapeutic purposes, you did the rest.”

“Always so humble! Hey, this means we’ll be in Best of Show together! Maybe we can meet up and train sometime! Isn’t it strange how they’re not in the same group? They look so much alike! I guess I should consider myself lucky because if we were in the same group, there’s no chance I’d win! Hannibal Lecter and Anzu? No way! I mean, forget Best in Show, how many Best of Breeds have you two gotten alone?”

“Four. One for every year she’s entered.”

Franklyn is about to reply when a voice interrupts.

“Some would say it’s not a fair marker of talent when the breed is so rare to begin with.” 

Franklyn and Hannibal turn towards Freddie Lounds, devoted reporter of the Chesapeake Kennel Club’s events. 

Hannibal smiles politely. This was not how he wished to celebrate.

“Some would say having such a rare breed is its own reward, Ms. Lounds.”

“Cute. But we both know: ‘Smaller the pool, bigger the chance.’”

“True. However, that fails to explain my two Working Group wins, and of course, my Best in Show.”

“Word on the street is you won’t be incumbent much longer, Dr. Lecter. You’ve got some competition this year.”

Hannibal is reminded his freezer is getting a bit empty, and looks Freddie over. Anzu does the same, with an added snarl.

Franklyn, seeing this as the perfect opportunity to jump in, responds “Oh, that’s very flattering Ms. Lounds. VERY. But I was just telling Hannibal, I couldn’t possibly compete-”

“You’re sweet. But no. I mean Mr. Dolarhyde over there.”

The two men follow Freddie’s gaze to the well-built, quiet man sitting on a bench, away from the rest of the crowds. He holds a blue ribbon in one hand and his Giant Schnauzer’s leash in another.

He’s gripping the leash a little too tightly for Hannibal’s liking. 

Freddie chimes back in, “They’re VERY disciplined. And it shows. You might not even make it to All-Breed this year. Giant Schnauzers ARE Working Group, aren’t they?”

“Discipline is, of course, needed in any competition. However, discipline of an extreme nature will only serve you well in Obedience. Perhaps. And as we all know, Obedience and Agility are merely garnishes for the main course, Best in Show.”

Freddie smirks. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

\-------

Finally home, Hannibal allows himself a sigh of relief. Anzu, happily unleashed, makes her way to a luxurious dog bed in the living room.

Hannibal smiles, heads upstairs, and returns holding something behind his back. Anzu immediately perks up.

“It’s not a treat, we can’t spoil your appetite, can we?”

Anzu whines slightly.

“Don’t pout, I have a lovely dinner planned for you tonight. This is just something extra.”

Hannibal gestures with his free hand and Anzu sits accordingly. 

“There we are.”

He pulls out a diamond-studded collar. Anzu tilts her head to the side, allowing Hannibal to take her current blue velvet collar off and replace it with his new gift. Hannibal sits back a moment.

“Beautiful.”

He kisses Anzu’s head, puts on some Vivaldi, and heads to the kitchen. Anzu dutifully follows her companion and makes herself at home in the equally tasteful bed lying in the corner of the room. 

As Hannibal collects his ingredients and begins cooking, a calm settles over him. He loves the circuit. The crowds, the attention, the praise. Even the people. Generally speaking. He enjoys being part of a community that is fond of one another’s company while at the same time willing to stab you in the back for a shot at glory. It’s a refreshing microcosm of human nature. That being said, Hannibal must return to his own nature at the end of the day. Despite what his dog show associates likely assume, Hannibal will forever be a creature of solitude. Anzu the only exception, of course. 

Hannibal looks to Anzu. He hadn’t anticipated this stage of his life. He has never known himself to be what one calls a “dog person.” He was quite attached to animals in his youth but had avoided them since. Traumatic memories had a way of making associations with things that once brought you joy. He supposed his current affection for canines was possible because he had somehow never owned one as a child. 

But in truth, he had only purchased Anzu and started competing for practical reasons. In order for Hannibal to maintain his rather unique lifestyle, Hannibal had to partake in unusual activities from time-to-time. This particular one was an attempt to further resemble the profile of one Abel Gideon, part of a plan which had since fallen through. 

No matter. 

Hannibal now competed because he genuinely enjoyed it. Took pride in it. How lucky to find a new hobby by protecting another one. And how lucky to find Anzu. For the first time in a long time Hannibal had someone to care for. Someone to love. Someone who loved him back with no lies, no agenda. Someone to whom he could entrust all his secrets.

DING!

Hannibal pours himself some bourguignon from one pot before pouring a dog-safe version from another pot into Anzu’s ceramic food bowl. Anzu gets up and accompanies Hannibal to the dining room. Hannibal rests the bowl down on the ground and gestures for Anzu to wait. She does without complaint, she knows this routine. Hannibal sits, picks up his silverware and nods contently to Anzu.

Bon Appétit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anzu means Apricot in Japanese!


	2. Chapter 2

“It can’t be done.”

“I say it can.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Crawford, it doesn’t matter what you say.”

“ _ Agent _ Crawford.”

Will Graham has been watching the two men go back and forth for the better part of an hour now. He wonders if Jack was surprised to see so much pushback from the head of the Chesapeake Kennel Club or if he had known all along this would be the case and just didn’t tell Will. Regardless, he’s been sitting here for a long enough time to know Jack was truthful about one thing: this man was not a killer. 

“Well,  _ Agent _ Crawford, unless there is some sort of legal mandate, I think we’re finished here. Good day.”

“Mr. Chilton-

“ _ Doctor _ Chilton.”

Jack raises an eyebrow at the man. Chilton smugly gestures to a framed display on the wall, with the hand that isn’t holding his toy poodle, Anthony, that is.

“I have a Ph.D in Animal Science.”

“ _ Doctor  _ Chilton. Three people connected to your organization have gone missing. I strongly encourage you to cooperate.”

Jack looks to Will for assistance. Sigh. This was not part of the deal. Will was only supposed to be here today to learn some basics and discuss strategy, not to take a trip into the mind of the smarmy, supercilious man in front of him. Hell, a part of him was hoping this thing would get called off anyway. Why should he prevent that from happening?

_ Three people missing. _

Will’s conscience was going to get him into trouble one of these days.  _ Fine, let’s get this over with. _

“The press will start to catch on.”

Chilton turns to Will, finally remembering he was in the room.

“The press?”

Too easy. 

Will continues, “Yep. People keep disappearing, they’re going to figure out the connection eventually. ‘Chesapeake Kennel Club’s shady underbelly.’ ‘Chesapeake Kennel Club wins the blue ribbon in murder.’ ‘What could Frederick Chilton have done better?’”

The color drains from Chilton’s face. Will’s hit him where it hurts the most - legacy. 

“I’m not a writer, but you get the picture. I’m sure someone like Freddie Lounds-

At this, Chilton laughs. “Freddie Lounds? She does puff pieces on our competitions for  _ The Baltimore Sun _ , she’s hardly-”

“Freddie majored in investigative journalism. She’s become notorious in Quantico for worming her way into crime scenes. She’s aiming for higher things, Dr. Chilton. Do you really want your organization to be the thing that gets her there?”

Chilton knows he’s lost. Played right into Will’s hand. Unfortunately, judging from the smile in Jack’s eyes, Will feels like he’s played right into Jack’s. 

Finally, Chilton speaks. “Fine. God, it’ll need a whole reworking. And for what? You seriously think you can last a day out there?”

Jack rejoins, “That’s why we’re here. We were hoping you could help Will blend in.”

Chilton looks Will up and down. “I’m not a miracle worker. I can only do so much.”

Will shifts in his seat, the attention unbearably uncomfortable. Why is he doing this again?

_ Three people missing.  _

Shut up.

Chilton continues, “Well, I’ll start with this: He can’t compete in Best in Show.”

Jack turns red again, “We JUST agreed-

“Relax. I said he can’t participate in Best in Show. We also put on Agility and Obedience competitions that the majority of our competitors, including your three missing people, participate in as well.”

Jack’s not satisfied yet. “But Best in Show is the main event, isn’t it? Will needs-”

“I’ll repeat: It can’t be done. Best in Show is a conformation competition. Do you know what that means?”

Jack stares blankly but Will, not wanting Chilton to have this victory, jumps in. “Conformation involves judging a dog’s specifications against their breed’s standards. My dogs are mixes, they have no breed standards.”

“Well at least we’re not starting from scratch.”

“Will was chosen because he knows dogs. We’re not complete fools, you know.”

Chilton doesn’t  _ quite  _ believe that, but he also doesn’t believe Agent Crawford wouldn’t punch him if he said so. No thank you. Not today. 

_ YIP! _

Anthony the poodle starts struggling in Chilton’s arms. Chilton curiously looks at his dog and then to the source of his distraction - Graham. Out of curiosity, Chilton sets Anthony down, only to see him immediately run and jump in Graham’s lap. Will laughs and starts petting the dog. Okay. Maybe this could work. Maybe. 

“Agent Crawford said you had a fine collection of dogs at home. How many?”

“Seven.” Now that he’s got Anthony to play with, Will is properly enjoying himself for the first time he entered the office. 

“Are they well trained?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Well, if you’d like my advice...don’t choose a dog based on agility or training alone. It is essential in these competitions that the handler work well with the dog. It isn’t just the dog being judged. You can be penalized too. You want a partner that you have a connection with, a bond to. Any dog can be trained, but the connection you feel with the animal can’t be forced. Understand?”

Will nods, scratching Anthony behind the ear. Connection with animals had never been his problem.

Jack turns to Chilton. “So how’s this gonna work?”

Chilton pinches the bridge of his nose, then releases. Why him?

“Best in Breed has already happened. Best of Group and Best of Show are a combined event at the very end of the season. In the meantime, we have our Obedience and Agility shows. There are three rounds, the final round happening the day of Best of Show.” Chilton sighs dramatically. How is he going to make this fly? His people know him. “I suppose I will announce that this year, we have a special...charity component. We will be allowing mixed rescue dogs to enter the Obedience and Agility competitions. Whoever makes it to, I don’t know, the final round? That would be the top ten. If any of the rescue dogs make it to the final round, we will donate to the animal organization of their choice. Is that satisfactory?”

Jack grins. “Sounds good to me. Will?”

“Fine.” If Will has to go through with this charade, at least some collateral good might come out of it. 

Chilton once again takes in the man before him. “Yes. Fine. Those are the logistics. However, one might question how in the world you’re actually going to get anything out of these people. I can make whatever announcement I want, but that doesn’t mean they’ll like it. These people are judgmental, elitist, exclusionary...and while you might be popular with the four-footed, excuse me for saying that you aren’t exactly a charmer with the bipeds.”

Will swallows nervously. Chilton may be an ass, but he wasn’t wrong. 

“I think we should bring Alana into this.”

Jack raises an eyebrow at this suggestion. “Bloom?”

“Having a friend or girlfriend will make me stand out less. And she’s...likable. And she has a rescue now, too. She can participate.”

“I don’t like it. The more people we have undercover, the more chance we have of being found out.”

“Sure. But Alana is a safe bet. Not close enough to the FBI to compromise much. Not to mention, she has the skills to be a second set of eyes on this thing.”

Chilton leans forward on his desk. “If I may chime in,” he doesn’t wait for permission to continue, “I think it’s far more risky letting this man into the ring alone. If  _ he _ walked up to me and told me he was doing this entire display for the chance to donate some money to charity, I wouldn’t believe him for a second. If this ‘likable’ Alana dragged him into it, however… that I could buy. And what I could buy, the competitors could also buy.”

Jack wasn't expecting to be ganged up on. He reluctantly gives a silent gesture of accord.

Will pets Anthony and thinks for the first time that this could actually work. 

\-----

“I’m so glad we’re finally doing this!”

The sun brightly reflects off the patio, giving Hannibal an excuse to narrow his eyes at Mason Verger’s words. Hannibal excels in a public setting, but being in a foreign home as someone’s guest, rather than the host, is not his preference. The surrender of control is displeasurable to Hannibal and Mason knows it. However, Bedelia remarked that it would be rude to turn down an invitation. Thrice. Which is how he finds himself here - on the outdoor patio of the great Verger estate with a number of fellow competitors and their canine companions. 

“Aren’t we glad, Margot?” Mason turns to his sister, who sits absentmindedly petting her Irish Setter. 

“Ecstatic.”

“I know my chef can’t live up to the great Hannibal Lecter, but he’ll have to do.”

“Nonsense, Mason, the food is exquisite,” Hannibal obliges.

“Well I sure hope so, given what I pay. Two hundred grand a year. Two hundred!” Mason laughs crudely. 

Hannibal winces internally. Bedelia smiles his way. She had suggested this might help with his patience. Hannibal had retorted that if exposure therapy was to be the way, they might start with a less inducing stimuli than Mason Verger. To add insult to injury, Mason’s Chinese Crested, Junior, had been yapping for the last 15 minutes. Anzu seemed to be waiting for the signal to do something about it. Hannibal allowed himself a smile at the thought. But no. They would behave. Besides, Hannibal was here for other reasons. 

He turns toward Francis Dolarhyde. “I am mostly glad this gives us an excuse to welcome in our newest competition.” Hannibal had been trying to get as much information as possible out of the man since they arrived. 

“It’s an honor you even think of me as competition, Dr. Lecter.” 

So far, Hannibal had come up shorter than expected. The man was polite, reserved, but there was something about him...the picture would come into focus eventually, he was sure of it. 

Bedelia looks toward Francis’ dog, Blake, who appears to be stoically fighting the temptation to play with Bedelia’s Airedale, Ariadne. “Blake is a truly impressive dog, Mr. Dolarhyde. You should take pleasure in your accomplishments.”

Francis turns away, in a seemingly bashful gesture.

Mason, feeling antsy about the attention not being on him, jumps in, “Indeedy, Mr. Dolarhyde. Always good to get some fresh blood in our little community. Especially since we’ve been losing so much lately.” Mason bursts into another round of crude laughter. Margot looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. Hannibal, not for the first time, feels a burst of admiration for her. 

Mason continues for some ungodly reason, “I do miss ol’ Abel. Fascinating guy. Beautiful pooch, too. Same kind as yours, isn’t that right, Hannibal?”

Hannibal catches Bedelia’s amused look out of the corner of his eye. If she wasn’t the closest thing he had to a real friend, there would have been four missing people from this community. 

“Abel had an Akita. Anzu is a Hokkaido.” 

“Is that what that little guy who follows you around has?” 

“If you mean Franklyn, that is a Shiba Inu.”

“Oh well, it’s all Japanese to me!” Another burst of laughter gives Hannibal a moment to wish Tobias hadn’t disappeared so recently. Mason turns to Francis. “You’ll learn I’m not as on the up-and-up about dogs as the rest of you. I only really got into this because Margot had been doing it for years. So dedicated! I barely saw her. So I thought ‘Hey! Why don’t I give it a try? Some brother-sister bonding time. I paid a boatload to get Junior here and the rest is history! We have fun, don’t we, Margot?”

Margot takes the opportunity to change the subject. “Speaking of fresh blood, are we not going to discuss Chilton’s announcement?”

Mason goes along with the new topic, “I’d love to! What is the deal with that? I would donate to the mutts just to get them to stay out of the competition. Actually, that’s not too bad an idea. Maybe I’ll try.” 

Bedelia offers her two cents, “It does seem strange that Chilton would suddenly be so interested in charity. He’s not exactly the sort.”

Margot agrees, “Maybe it’s for the tax write-off. Or good publicity? He’s been a little on edge since Tobias vanished. Rule of three, I suppose.”

Mason and Bedelia hum in agreement. 

In a move that surprises Hannibal, Francis volunteers an opinion. “It’s not right. This competition is about perseverance, diligence, sacrifice. Dogs should not be allowed to compete ‘for fun.’”

The others nod. Hannibal, meanwhile, sees an opportunity.

“I think it’s a good thing.”

The others turn to him in surprise. There’s an edge to Francis’ expression, though, that intrigues Hannibal. In truth, Hannibal didn’t much like the announcement either. But that was more because he was suspicious of the sudden rule change than anything else. That being said, Chilton had done far more questionable things in the past than allowing rescue dogs into ancillary trials. Thus, he dismissed it for now, neither particularly for or against it. 

But it was always more amusing to be contrary than to conform. When people are taken off-guard, they are always so revealing. Or angry, as Francis seemed to be. 

“I welcome the added competition. The rescues cause no harm. They are only a nuisance if you believe your own dog is not capable of beating them.”

Bedelia takes a long sip of her wine.  _ Oh, Hannibal.  _

Francis takes the bait. “They cannot possibly compete with Blake.”

“Then there is no problem.”

“It sullies the purity of the institution.”

“Variety makes an institution more interesting.”

Francis is practically shaking. Hannibal smiles. One more push and perhaps-

“Easy enough to play the egalitarian over cocktails” Mason remarks, “But I can’t imagine Dr. Hannibal Lecter on the actual floor, rubbing elbows with the proletariat.”

“Then I’m sorry to say you don’t know me very well, Mason.”

“And what happens to me if I do?”

Hannibal tilts his head. Interesting. 

At that moment, Ariadne brings Hannibal a stick. Hannibal winks at the others humorously, “I suppose we’ll have to find out another time.”

The others smile as Hannibal rises and walks out onto the grass, Anzu and Ariadne following. There were many reasons to have a dog. A built-in excuse machine was one of them. He throws the stick and watches the two dogs sprint after it. He stands mesmerized for a moment, watching their muscles flex and pull with every movement, watching their teeth latch onto the stick, each pulling and straining. He revels in the pure animalism for a moment before whistling. Anzu drops the stick and Ariadne runs around happily with her prize. Anzu walks back to Hannibal, nuzzling him. 

“There, there, girl.” he whispers, “Good things come to those who wait their turn.”

He directs his and Anzu’s gaze to Mason. And then to Francis. 

“All in good time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They meet next chapter I promise <3


	3. Chapter 3

_ ‘Absurd’ doesn’t begin to cover it _ , Will thinks to himself as he takes in the arena before him. The dog show ring is a giant covered stadium broken up into three large areas currently being used for practice. Will didn’t know what he had been expecting...but not this. A quaint paddock maybe, like they have for horses? 

A booming overhead announcement further quashes that image, “RESCUE REGISTRATION FOR OBEDIENCE AND/OR AGILITY COMPETITIONS TAKING PLACE IN SECTION 112. THOSE WHO WISH TO ENTER THEIR RESCUE DOGS FOR OBEDIENCE AND/OR AGILITY, PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO SECTION 112.”

Alana turns to Will, “That answers that question.”

Will is too overwhelmed to respond. Or look at her. Or move his feet towards the infamous Section 112. There’s too many people here. Too much stimuli. He had been hoping the dogs would help, but unfortunately they all came with at least one human. 

Winston nuzzles his hand. 

Alana tries again, “Hey. It’s going to be okay.” Will smiles back at her halfheartedly. “If it were up to me, I’d wait here with you all day, but someone wants to get going.” Alana draws Will’s attention to Applesauce, excitedly tugging at her leash, eager to greet every dog that passes by. 

Will laughs. He needed an attitude like Applesauce if he was ever going to get through this. “Lead the way.” 

Alana raises an eyebrow, “It’s cute how you think I know what direction Section 112 is in.”

“Damn.”

Will and Alana look around for signage or a map or...something. Perhaps a bit too transparently, because a voice chimes in.

“Hey! Are you two looking for rescue registration?”

They turn to see a teenage girl with brunette hair accompanied by an older man and their two dogs.

Alana smiles good-naturedly. Not for the first time, Will thinks how glad he is that Alana’s here. 

“Were we that obvious?”

“A little,” the girl laughs, “I’m Abigail, this is my dad.” 

The man steps forward and shakes their hands. “Garret Jacob Hobbs. We’re headed that way too. You can follow us, if you like.”

Alana steps in again. “We would like that very much, thank you. I’m Alana and this is my boyfriend, Will.”

Will allows a moment of surprise to cross his features. They hadn’t exactly settled on whether Will was to be friend or boyfriend. He’s not going to lie, he’d much rather this option, although a familiar voice doubted if that statement was at all convincing. 

He gives an obligatory, “Nice to meet you,” before they all start walking together. 

Luckily, Alana continues to make up for whatever social graces Will lacks when she asks, “Is this your first time doing this?”

“It’s mine, but not my dad’s. Bruno’s a purebred, dad’s been showing him for years now.” 

_ Ah _ . Will shares a small look with Alana.  _ Okay then _ . Five minutes in and he’d already misjudged the situation. Garret Jacob Hobbs is a suspect. Will ventures a question, hoping it sounds like small talk, “What kind of retriever is he?”

Hobbs smiles, “Chesapeake Bay.”

“Appropriate.” 

“Coincidence. We’re not from here. We just fly out from Minnesota once a year to do all this. It’s the only competition somewhat near us that’s worth a damn.” 

“Doesn’t this whole thing last months?”

“I’m a construction worker. I just make sure to pick up jobs that don’t fall over dog show season.”

_ That’s...extreme. Committed. The disappearances all occurred over show seasons, so can’t rule him out. Actually, the fact that he’s an out-of-towner makes it more- _

Will’s thoughts are interrupted by Hobbs. “You okay? Looked kinda..somewhere else for a minute."

Alana jumps in with the distraction, “The show must mean a lot for you two to put your life on hold like that.”

“It’s just what we do. Also gives an excuse to spend time together.”

Abigail smiles at her dad, “We’ve been training show dogs together since I was little. But my dog Dasher is a retriever mix, so we’ve never been eligible ourselves. It’s so awesome they’re doing this.”

Will mentally thanks Abigail for reminding him why he agreed to do this. Collateral good. 

The four finally reach the registration line. 

Abigail continues, “What about you two? Any experience?”

“None at all.”

“Well, your dogs seem very sweet.” Applesauce is bouncing around her two new retriever friends. Bruno and Dasher are clearly more well behaved but are enjoying the attention. Winston, more shy, stays by Will’s legs. 

“Hobbs?!” They turn to see Mason Verger and Junior making their way over. “What are you doing over here? They finally find out Bruges here was half lab?”

Hobbs tries and fails to hide his annoyance. “Mason. His name is Bruno. And no.” 

“Oh I see! Young Abigail is competing! We all have to dethrone our parents someday, don’t we, kiddo?”

Abigail is clearly uncomfortable. Will stares Mason down, innately knowing that was the goal. This man thrives off of others’ discomfort. 

Mason’s smile doesn’t waver. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, Hobbs? Or did you just find them off the street like the dogs you’re registering? Ha! I kid. I’m a kidder. You can tell them, Hobbs!”

Will steps forward with a sudden confidence that comes from a deep need to not give this man what he wants. The smaller Mason intends him to feel, the bigger he’ll get. “I’m Will. This is my girlfriend Alana.”

Applesauce bounds toward Junior, but is rebuffed by a quick snarl.

Mason looks Alana up and down for what feels like a minute too long. “Shame. You’re just my sister’s type. Ha! Well, nice to meet you two anyway.” 

_ Possibly a sadist,  _ Will thinks.

Mason begins to turn away but then faces toward them again. “Say, you wouldn’t want some chocolate, would you? I was always taught it was a good way to make friends.” 

“I’d love some,” Alana answers, probably thinking this was the quickest way to get rid of the man.

Mason grins and removes a chocolate bar from his coat pocket. He stares down at it for a moment before slowly extending it out to Alana. Just as Alana is about to take it from him, Mason drops it. Applesauce immediately goes for the chocolate but Will just barely manages to snatch it first. 

Mason stares at Will, dead-eyed. “Oops. I guess that’s why they call it Butterfingers, huh?”

Will feels the anger radiating off the Hobbs’ and Alana. But more than that, he feels the pleasure radiating off Mason.  _ Definitely a sadist _ . Will swallows his emotions. Jack would probably look down upon him punching a potential suspect on his first day. 

“Oh, Hobbs, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Hannibal Lecter around.”

“Nope.”

“Interesting name,” Alana manages to say.

Mason grins even wider. “Interesting man. We’re very close friends.” Mason forcibly shakes Will’s hand. “Guess I’ll go hunt him down. Toodaloo.”

“Sorry about him.” Hobbs looks at Alana and Will apologetically. “I’d like to say he’s the only one like that, but honestly dog shows attract some interesting folk.” 

Abigail agrees, “You just have to find your people. And if that doesn’t work, just focus on the dogs.” 

Will can’t help but smile. He likes Abigail. 

_ Potential suspect _ , that voice reminds him. 

_ Shut up _ , he reminds the voice. 

“Have you known Mason for a long time?” Alana inquires.

Hobbs responds, “Not really, no. A couple of years maybe."

_ That’s when the disappearances started,  _ Will thinks with some pleasure.

“But we’ve known OF him for a lot longer,” Abigail continues. “His sister, Margot, has been competing way longer than Dad, even.” 

_ Oh great, there’s two of them _ . 

“She’s a lot nicer than Mason, though,” Abigail adds, as if reading Will’s thoughts. “And her dog is gorgeous.”

“I don’t personally classify that thing Mason carries around as a  _ dog _ , but that’s up to Chilton, not me,” Hobbs grumbles.

“Who’s Chilton?” Will glumly thinks this is the bare minimum he can do to keep up his role. At least he’s trying. 

“He runs this whole thing. Strange little guy. But he’s the main judge too, so try not to make him hate you too much.”

“Next!” The man at registration shouts. 

Hobbs nods to Will and Alana before stepping up. Abigail quickly says “We’ll wait for you afterwards and show you the practice area!” 

They thank her and share a look. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all. 

\-----

_ And so it begins _ , Hannibal thinks warmly. 

He wasn’t lying to Freddie earlier, conformation competitions do hold the most value in their circles. But this — this requires a far more adept skill set. Conformation ultimately has very little to do with you in particular. Most of it comes down to the genes you were born with. Obedience and Agility, however, allowed Hannibal and Anzu to show off their unique set of abilities. Anyone can be born with proper proportions and symmetrical faces, but very few others had Hannibal and Anzu’s level, and combination, of athleticism and intelligence.  It was the difference between a game of luck and a game of strategy. Hannibal and Anzu might have been blessed with the former but were especially distinctive in the latter. And these competitions allowed everyone to know it. 

As such, Hannibal always made a rather big to-do of the first official day of Agility/Obedience practice. Thus, he found himself running alongside Anzu’s practice course in a thousand-dollar white wool suit — the color matching Anzu’s fur, of course. 

Adopting Anzu had required certain concessions on Hannibal’s part. Being a creature of habit, Hannibal tried to keep the life changes to a minimum. For instance, although the thought of wandering around covered in dog hair was untenable, so was the thought of forgoing his suit collection entirely. The compromise involved much research and a well-paid tailor. Most of his clothes were now a silk blend that did not attract Anzu's fur. He even indulged in a few velvet suits, if only for special occasions. Wool wasn’t the best at repelling hair, but the wool he did still own was chosen with thought to Anzu’s coloration. And when that failed, there was always the velvet lint brush he carried with him at all times.

As Hannibal watches Anzu weave through poles with ease, he thinks once more how worth it she is. She’s doing quite well for not having practiced in a while. When outside of show season, Hannibal and Anzu participate in different physical activities. 

“Not bad,” Bedelia says as Hannibal and Anzu reach the finish. She shows Hannibal her stopwatch. “She missed the contact point on the A-frame, which is a penalty, of course.” 

“Of course,” Hannibal replies courteously. He’d obviously noticed himself, but assumed Bedelia would not have. Rather foolish of him, considering she notices everything. They made very good training partners in that regard, and felt free to do so since their dogs competed in different height categories. Anzu and Ariadne could both take home the blue ribbon. 

He was fond of the Airedale, as he was of the owner. Bedelia had helped him become knowledgeable of this world after all. A debt he reminded himself of whenever she pushed his buttons a tad too frequently. 

Hannibal smelled Franklyn approaching before he saw him. He had apparently purchased a nearly identical cologne to Hannibal’s. Bending down, Hannibal prematurely leashes Anzu. She was fine around Ariadne but Hokkaidos had a unique playing style, which other dogs often interpreted as aggression. He did not want Franklyn’s Shiba to start a fight she would not win. 

“Hannibal, Bedelia, hello!”

Bedelia nods politely before pretending to adjust Ariadne’s collar. Hannibal accepts the move... this time. 

“Hello, Franklyn. Are you competing in Agility this year?”

“Yes! Obedience too, actually. Wasn’t sure which one to start with, so here we are!”

“Agility requires obedience, but if your dog is versed in both, it is always good to start your training day with agility, so that your dog is not already exhausted before running a course.”

“That makes complete sense. What would I do without you?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to find out. Anzu needs to rehydrate. Bedelia, perhaps you can adjust the jump heights for young Kami here.”

Bedelia turns to Hannibal with thinly veiled disdain. He smiles back innocuously. 

“Goodbye for now.” Hannibal and Anzu smugly leave the ring and look around for a water fountain. Unfortunately, the nearest one is located startling close to the Mason Verger. He doesn’t think this is a coincidence. 

Hannibal walks towards the fountain nonetheless, ignoring Mason’s desired effect of intimidation. He needs to learn his place, as does any animal challenging an alpha. 

“Ah, Hannibal. Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Hello, Mason.”

Hannibal lets Anzu finish her drink before facing Mason. He was unsurprisingly dog-less. Mason did not compete with Junior himself. He had a paid handler for that sort of thing. Hannibal had seen Mason’s handler, Cordell, heading towards the obedience ring with the Chinese Crested earlier. It had helped Hannibal decide which ring to practice in today. 

“And here I thought you’d already be tied at the hip with the philistines. Surely you’d seen them congregate earlier. So much opportunity. And yet, not a mutt in sight.”

Margot and her Irish Setter cautiously join the men. 

“I haven’t had the pleasure yet. Hello, Margot.” Hannibal takes a moment to appreciate the finery that Margot herself has dressed in today. 

“Dr. Lecter.”

“Margot, I was just reminding Hannibal of his big words the other day. He seems to be all bark, no bite.”

“Simply point me in the direction of our new friends and I will happily correct this morning’s oversight.”

“So you’re saying you can make nice with  _ any  _ of them?”

_ If I can ‘make nice’ with you, I can with anyone. _ Hannibal stops himself from giving voice to that thought and merely inclines his head.

“Very well. How ‘bout those two?”

Hannibal follows Mason’s pointing finger  _ (rude) _ to a party just entering the agility ring. 

Mason continues, “And they’re with the Hobbs! Easy ice breaker.”

Hannibal turns back to Mason. “Very.”

“What can I say, I’m feeling charitable.” Hannibal very much doubts that, but sees nothing immediately suspicious about the set up. 

“Vergers.” Hannibal gives his leave and heads toward the party with Anzu.

Margot sits down next to Mason. “What was that about?”

“I talked to them earlier. The gal’s nice enough, but the guy? Let’s just say I know Hannibal and he’s not his cup of tea. Not unless his cup of tea is actually a novelty mug from ‘Gator Joe’s Fishing Stop.’ Ha!” 

“Some would argue you aren’t exactly his cup of tea either.”

“Ouch, Margot, you wound me. But no, I’m actually counting on that. You see, I was my lovely self earlier. Got this fellow a bit riled up, if you know what I mean. Then I made sure to mention my best friend, Hannibal Lecter.”

Margot rolls her eyes. Mason defends himself, “Oh, come now, Margot, it’s all in good fun.”

\-----

Abigail and Will stand inside the ring as Abigail explains what the different obstacles are called. Will is half listening to her, his other half too busy taking in the apparent chaos around him. He tries to drown it all out but his brain doesn’t know what to focus on. It jumps from handler to dog to obstacle to Abigail to motion. Will wants more than anything just to turn inward, but that’s no use to anybody. And he’s here to be of use. Deep breath. Focus. Focus. Focu-

“Will!”

Will turns around and sees Alana standing with Hobbs and a ridiculously overdressed man. Alana beckons him over, so he follows. Glad to give up decision-making for the time being. His mind latches onto the unfamiliar guest. Maybe he’s a judge or a sponsor or-

Alana interrupts his thoughts, “Will, this is Hannibal Lecter.”

The man reaches out his hand. “Hello, Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I promised they would meet in this chapter and then I did the bare minimum, but it was getting long so here we are, I'm sorry. Obviously more interactions will occur next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

“Will, this is Hannibal Lecter.”

“Hello, Will.”

Will is too distracted thinking about how this man is actually wearing a suit, tie, and... _are those leather shoes?_... to meet Hannibal’s handshake. 

Hannibal drops his hand. 

“Will.” Alana nudges him, concerned. 

Will shakes himself out of it. “Sorry, just so much going on here. Hi. Will.” He extends his hand again, trying to keep out the thought that this man color coordinated with his dog.

Hannibal allows a moment of amusement to cross his features. “I know.” He takes the second chance at a handshake. 

Will keeps it short, a bit defensive. Hannibal’s face has barely moved a muscle but Will gets the feeling he’s being laughed at. _Oh_ . _Right_. Thinking back to the last time he was laughed at today makes Will realize where he heard Hannibal’s name before. Mason. This man is a friend of Mason’s. 

“Hi, Hannibal!” Abigail’s voice brings him back to the present. 

“Hello, Abigail. Lovely to see you.” 

“You too! Hey Alana, can I show you around the ring now?”

“That’d be wonderful.” Alana looks to Will, still concerned. “Are you…?” 

Will quickly nods. He wished Alana’s default emotion with him wasn’t ‘worry’ but he supposed that was better than what he got from most people. Alana smiles back at the men as Abigail grabs Alana’s hand and leads her away.

“Better go with them to make sure Alana’s a willing captive.” Hobbs nods at Hannibal and Will before leaving them alone. 

When it becomes apparent that Hannibal isn’t going to leave, Will looks down and pets Winston out of nervous habit. A beat passes. Hannibal isn’t speaking. Will isn’t speaking. Will’s not used to this. People are uncomfortable with silence and usually break before Will does. But here is Hannibal Lecter. Just standing there. Will feels… contentment and more… _amusement?_ ...coming from the man. 

He’s not some snobbish asshole’s entertainment. Will looks up sharply, “Are you a competitor, then?” 

A miniscule indication of surprise crosses Hannibal’s features. Hannibal wasn’t used to people in this world not knowing who he was. Although, he supposed Will was not from this world. As was plainly evident by his attire, overall demeanor, and… _what is that atrocious cologne_ …?

“Very much so.”

“Ever won anything?” 

Now Hannibal wondered if Will was just ruffling him intentionally. 

“Indeed. Anzu currently holds Best in Show.” Hannibal was not a braggart, but he was directly asked. And he never exactly missed an opportunity to revel in the impressed looks he got from such a statement… if only because Anzu deserved it. But Will wasn’t looking at him with anything resembling awe. In fact, he wasn’t looking at him at all. 

Hm.

Perhaps a different approach. 

“Your dog is very handsome. What’s his name?”

That gets a small smile out of Will at least. 

Will answers, “Winston.”

“Churchill?”

“Marshall. He’s the guitarist for Mumford & Sons.”

“Ah.” Hannibal has no idea what to do with that one, other than ponder over why a band would name themselves Mumford & Sons if that was not actually their last name. He didn’t care enough to inquire. “He has a very interesting pattern. Do you know the genetic makeup?”

_Probably some mix of Australian Shepherd, German Shepherd, Collie, and/or Retriever_ , Will thinks to himself. 

“Nope. And don’t really see the point in finding out.”

Hannibal blinks. 

Will scolds himself internally. This guy isn’t really as bad as Mason. And he’s the incumbent blue ribbonist or whatever. He probably deserves a little bit more than the barest of efforts. 

Especially if Will has any hope at gathering useful information down the road. 

He points to Anzu. “Interesting dog. Too big to be a Shiba, too little to be an Akita.”

“She’s a Hokkaido.” 

“Never heard of it.”

Will got the feeling his bluntness wasn’t appreciated. It usually wasn’t. 

“Most haven’t.”

Will also got the feeling this was a point of pride in this guy for some reason. 

“Problem?” Hannibal’s face is stone. 

Oh shit. Will scoffed out loud, didn’t he? 

“Nope.” _Yes._

“Please.”

Will had intended to stay quiet, but for some reason the words spill out of his mouth before he realizes what’s happening. “Don’t you think having such a rare purebred defeats the point? If you feel pride in having such a unique dog, why not just get a mutt?”

_Shit._

He looks at Hannibal’s face. Will cannot for the life of him tell what’s going on inside this guy’s head right now. It makes him wildly uncomfortable. 

“Apologies, I didn’t catch your last name.”

_What?_

What’s he going to do? Report him? Will is so taken aback by the apparent subject change that he forgets his fake name for a moment.

“Harris.” 

Hannibal hesitates for a moment. “Mr. Harris, Hokkaido are one of the six _Nihon-ken,_ the national dogs of Japan. Their origin can be traced back nearly a thousand years. They are dogs bred for a specific purpose and temperament. Mutts are not. Just because the western world is unfamiliar with my dog, does not mean she is a unique breed.”

Ah. So it wasn’t the rarity of the breed Hannibal took pride in. It was the rarity of the information. Pretentious asshole. 

Will felt Hannibal’s eyes boring into his skull. This wasn’t going well. That’s fine. It’s fine. He brought Alana into this for a reason.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know what I’m talking about.” 

_That much is obvious_ , Hannibal thinks.

“I’m just not really interested in any of this, to tell the truth.”

“Then some might wonder what brought you here.”

“My girlfriend.” Hannibal looks surprised. Will ignores the (he has a strong feeling) intentional slight. “She got a rescue recently. Heard about the competition thing. Got all excited. I tried to get out of it. I’m not into all the pomp and frills, but how do I say no to charity without sounding like a jerk?” 

Hannibal’s face is completely closed off. Will has zero idea whether he’s buying this or not. 

“I see. Although I must confess, I haven’t gotten the impression you usually care much about how you sound.”

The two stare each other down for a beat, Hannibal smiling smugly. 

“Relationships are the exception.” Will counters. 

“‘Happy wife, happy life.’”

“Right.” 

Mason approaches them. Will decides he’s had enough for today.

“Speaking of, I should probably join her. Get some practice in before the first round.”

“Of course. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.” 

_Yeah, right._

Will and Winston turn away without acknowledging the newly arrived Mason.

“Sooo, how’d it go? Got a new best friend already, don’t you?” Mason’s voice is rich with sarcasm.

Hannibal’s suspicions about this being a set up are very close to being confirmed. Nevertheless, he’s about to grin and bear it when-

“Hey!”

Hannibal and Mason turn in time to see Francis’ Giant Schnauzer, Blake, leap through a tire jump just as Will is passing on the other side. The dog collides with Will, shoving him to the ground. 

Mason laughs. “How much did you bribe the dog to do that, Hannibal?”

Hannibal ignores him and watches as Blake scrambles off of Will. Winston growls at Blake, ears back, possibly ready to attack. Blake crouches down and starts whining. Will, disoriented though he may be, snaps back to attention and gestures for Winston to wait. He then flicks his hand until Winston starts backing up. Satisfied with the distance, Will gestures again and Winston sits. 

_Interesting,_ Hannibal thinks.

“Huh, guess you shouldn’t judge a dog by its collar. Ha!” Mason continues chuckling.

Hannibal is again saved from a response by Francis’ shouting. 

“What do you think you were doing?!” 

Will had just gotten to his feet, when he suddenly finds himself eye-to-chin with Francis Dolaryde. He looks up at the larger man. 

“I’m sor-”

“You could have hurt him!” 

Will had just been tackled to the ground by a flying horse, but sure. He looks around to see everyone’s eyes on them. So much for being inconspicuous. 

“There are rules to this! You can’t just walk right through-

“Yeah. Okay. Got it.” 

Francis takes a step towards Will, the two officially breathing in the same air. 

“I don’t think you do.”

“Gentleman.” Chilton approaches nervously, eager to end the spectacle for multiple reasons. “Why don’t we all calm down a moment?”

Francis turns on Chilton. “He walked through the middle of my active course.”

“Alright, perhaps some safety training is needed for the newcomers. Your feedback is very much appreciated. Now-”

“This is serious, Chilton, that mongrel almost attacked Blake!”

Will and Chilton look at the much smaller dog, still sitting patiently a few feet away from the action. 

Chilton reluctantly turns back to Francis. “With all due respect, Mr. Dolarhyde-”

“You have no respect. This is what happens when you let just anyone in here.” With that, Francis quickly leashes Blake and tugs him away harshly. 

Will watches him walk away, silently fuming. 

“Are you alright?” Chilton asks out of obligation.

Will nods.

“Good, then perhaps next time you can find it in you to stick to the conveniently outlined safety paths.” Chilton grabs Will’s hand. “So nice to meet you.” Chilton drops the painfully fake smile along with his hand and marches off angrily. 

Mason watches as Alana and the Hobbs re-group with Will and proceed to fuss over him. Boring.

“Well, guess the fun’s over.” Mason turns back to Hannibal, but Hannibal’s eyes are still drawn toward the group. “Fun’s over, I said.” 

But Hannibal wasn’t watching the people. His eyes haven’t left Winston. Still sitting patiently at a distance. Finally, Will releases Winston and calls him over. 

_Very interesting._

“I respectfully disagree.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Works been crazy lately so it's taking me longer to update this, but don't worry I haven't forgotten about it! Work should ease up in the next few weeks so I should be able to update more frequently then.

Jack Crawford swirls his mug, watching the tea leaves float around in the remaining liquid. In one swift movement, he downs it, eyes meeting Will’s in a steely gaze as he does so.

His eyes don’t move as he rests the mug down in a manner that can’t, in good faith, really be described as “rests.” Will looks away.

Alana breaks the silence. “I don’t know what Chilton said happened, Jack, but it really wasn’t that bad.”

Jack turns toward his new target. “Oh! Wonderful! Because I was under the impression Will caused a scene and almost got into a fight in the middle of the dog ring. But I’m glad to hear I’m mistaken.”

Alana meets the challenge. “That’s not fair. Will didn’t instigate the event. If anything, he’s the victim.”

_Aren’t I always_ , Will thinks sardonically.

“You think I care who started it?! Does this look like a playground to you, Dr. Bloom? We’ve got three missing people and our lead undercover investigator seems to have the subtle touch of a hydraulic press.”

Alana opens her mouth but Will would rather defend himself in all honesty. “I’m sorry, Jack. Next time I feel the urge to get hit by a hundred pound animal, I’ll try to have a little more self-control. Promise.”

Jack glares at Will. Jack was tricky. Will knew that responding in that way would either escalate the man’s anger or escalate the man’s guilt. It depended on his mood any given day. But judging by the gradual softening of Jack’s features, it looked like Will’s gamble paid off.

Jack sighs. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Will didn’t feel the need to mention the enormous bruise stretching down his torso, let alone the sharp pain he felt every time he inhaled.

“Good.” Jack leans back. “So what are we dealing with here?”

Alana tilts her head thoughtfully. “Chilton wasn’t kidding. This community shows signs of deep insularity, both to outsiders and within the community itself. On one hand, the dogs seem to be an equalizer. On the other hand what kind of dog you have, what your experience is, and what your background is also appear to create cliques and prejudice among the competitors, yielding an overall hostile environment.”

Will nods. “The only regular competitor willing to associate with us was a father whose daughter has a mixed-breed dog.”

“Well,” Alana counters. “Not the only one. Dr. Lecter introduced himself and seemed very polite, don’t you think?”

Will can’t help but scoff. “No. I don’t think. I think he is a member of the ‘haves,’ who enjoys playing games with the ‘have-nots.’” Will turns to Jack. “But the point is: This is the kind of environment where it seems like everyone has the motive, the means, and the opportunity.”

“I’d have to agree. It’s not going to be easy.” Alana adds.

Jack nods. “So no one stood out?”

Alana jumps in, “It’s too early to tell, but out of the handful we met, I’d say Francis Dolarhyde or Mason Verger.”

Will shakes his head. “I don’t know. Mason absolutely is capable. Textbook sadist who started competing around the time people started going missing…”

“But?” Jack asks.

“But he has no subtlety. Our unsub might be hiding in plain sight, but he’s still hiding. Mason, meanwhile, seems to be standing there with a flashing neon sign saying ‘I’ve committed 18 heinous crimes before breakfast’.

” Jack nods. “And Dolarhyde?”

“There’s definitely something off about him, but Hobbs told us this was his first year competing.”

“That doesn’t exclude him,” Jack argues. “He could’ve been attending the thing for years. Weeding out his competition to ensure that he’d have a good chance of winning when he did decide to enter.”

“That aligns with my analysis,” Alana says. “He seems like an outsider, more comfortable on the edges than in the center. And yet, on paper, he is one of the ‘haves,’ to put it in Will’s terms. He’s also very knowledgeable about the world and the community for someone who’s a newcomer.”

Will nods. “And judging by his reaction to me, he clearly thinks he deserves to be there.”

“So Dolarhyde waits on the sidelines for years. Puts in the time, researches the behaviors, the people, the rules. Plucks out his competition one-by-one.” Jack looks down at his notes. “His dog is in the Working group and two out of three of our missing people were also in that group.” He looks up again. “Might be our guy.”

“Hannibal Lecter is also in that group.” Will adds.

“Mr. Best in Show, huh? Think he might be plucked off next?”

“No, I’m saying he might be the one doing the plucking.”

Jack and Alana look to Will in surprise and wait for him to continue speaking. He doesn't.

Jack bites. “Care to explain why he struck you as a killer?”

“He didn’t necessarily. But he’s no less of a jerk than anyone else we’ve been discussing.”

“I disagree.”

Will turns to Alana. “The fact that he’s better at hiding it only helps my point.”

“Do you have anything more solid to go off of with Lecter, other than the group he’s in and his attitude?”

“You know my particular skills don’t work like that, Jack. I have the feeling before I have the evidence.”

“Well, work on getting some evidence. Then we’ll talk about Lecter. For now, I think Dolarhyde’s our best bet. Buddy up to more people. Find out what you can. Don’t hit anybody.”

Will’s thoughts stray to Hannibal Lecter once more. That last order might be difficult to follow.

\--------

Chopin drifts through the dining room along with the savory aroma Hannibal carries with him on a platter.

The platter is covered, of course. Everything always had to be a performance with Hannibal. But, if the meal Hannibal had laid at Anzu and Ariadne’s feet a minute earlier was any indication, Bedelia guessed tonight’s course was duck. What Hannibal ate, Anzu ate.

Ariadne whines slightly, eager for her cue to dig in. She wasn’t used to the waiting game Hannibal liked to play.

Bedelia takes a long sip of her wine, playing the attentive audience member as Hannibal places the dishes on the table and removes the coverings with a flourish.

“Braised duck legs simmered in a red wine reduction.”

Bedelia tips her head in appreciation. Hannibal smiles and sits down, finally giving the dogs the go ahead.

“And let me guess, for dessert, a chocolate cake with a red wine glaze?”

“Wine poached pears, actually.”

“Of course.”

“You should feel flattered you inspire such creations.”

“I do, but I confess I’m beginning to feel typecast.”

“Nonsense. There is endless diversity and history to be found among red wines.” Hannibal takes a long moment to smell his wine before drinking. “For instance, this Pinot Noir comes from the Burgundy region of France, while your duck was simmered in Beaujolais Nouveau from the Beaujolais region. The latter is made with Gamay grapes and was banned twice in Burgundy for occupying land the inhabitants felt was better used for the more elegant pinot grape.”

“Rivals forced together?” Bedelia raises her eyebrows in challenge.

“That is certainly one way to look at it,” Hannibal smiles. “I always found the ire silly anyhow. Gamay grapes generally produce a simpler, fruitier wine, but the Cru Beaujolais is intriguing and complex. Very similar to the Pinot Noir.”

“Different origins, similar results.”

“Indeed. And I do love an underdog.”

“And yet it doesn’t sound like you were able to find any Cru Beaujolais amongst the Gamay the other day.”

Hannibal’s fork pauses ever so slightly before continuing on its trajectory. “Did you hear that from Mason?”

“I heard a significant amount of gloating, yes.”

“It proves nothing. Mason manipulated the situation and sent me to talk to someone he already knew I would dislike, regardless of background.”

“Mason manipulated you? Some would argue that in itself is tantamount to winning.”

Hannibal sets his jaw and takes a moment before responding with a polite, “No.”

Bedelia, feeling dangerous, leans forward. “Oh?”

“I knew he was manipulating me and therefore it was not a successful manipulation. I simply went along with it because I appreciate a challenge.”

“And this…”

“Will. Will Harris.”

“...proved too challenging? Was he really that horrible?”

“Not horrible, no. But very rude.”

_Ah. Worse than horrible, then._ Bedelia thought. She wasn’t feeling quite dangerous enough to vocalize that one.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone else to prove your word.” Bedelia had barely finished her sentence when Hannibal started up again.

“Extraordinarily rude. Very little regard for any kind of social contract.”

“Perhaps he was simply nervous coming into a new situation?”

“He doesn’t care enough to be nervous. Allegedly, all he cares about are his girlfriend’s opinions of him. She’s competing too.”

“You might have more success with the girlfriend.” Bedelia offers.

“He didn’t care who I was. Who Anzu was. I inquired about his own dog and he didn’t even know his genetic make-up.”

Bedelia takes a bite. “This meal is very lovely. Is this fennel?”

“Yes.” Hannibal takes another sip. “Not to mention the man seemed more willing to get stampeded by a Giant Schnauzer than converse with me.”

“I never think to use fennel.”

“Frankly, I would understand if he was simply apathetic. That’s almost predictable.”

Bedelia turned to observe Hannibal more carefully. She’d never seen him so fixated on something that he lagged in polite conversation. How interesting.

“Then what is it you don’t understand?”

Hannibal’s thoughts went to the incident with Dolarhyde easily. It hadn’t been far from the forefront of his mind since it occurred. He kept going back to it for the simple reason that it didn’t contribute to the rest of the picture he had been painting of Will.

“His dog is remarkably well-trained.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5: In which I pretend to know anything about wine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI this is the suit Hannibal is wearing in this chapter: https://www.studiosuits.com/suits/look_book/italian_silk_prilo_suit
> 
> It's not plot-important, but I just felt you should know.

Will watches enviously as Alana follows the Hobbs to the obedience training ring. They had agreed to split up this time. Alana would try to get more information out of their new “friends” and hopefully meet more potential suspects - or witnesses - in the process. Meanwhile, Will was stuck observing Dolarhyde in the agility ring. Apparently Dolaryde doesn’t think Blake needs any more obedience practice. And Will can see why. That dog is terrified of his owner. 

Will’s daydream of arresting Dolarhyde and adopting Blake himself is interrupted by Winston nuzzling his side.

He smiles and bends down, scratching his boy’s ears. “Do you want another brother?” 

Winston wags his tail excitedly but is soon distracted by passing dogs. Will clicks. Winston starts turning his attention back to Will, but a nearby bark catches Winston’s attention instead. He turns to face the sound, whining as he does so. Will clicks again. Nothing. “Winston!” Finally the dog turns back to him and sits. Will shakes his head and mentally thinks they’ll be lucky if they can get to round two. Winston lies down, looking guilty. 

Will doesn’t blame the dog. The cacophony of the arena is as unfamiliar and disorienting to Winston as it is to him. He wonders how any of these dogs - or owners - can concentrate. 

“All right, let's at least look like we’re doing something, okay?” Will murmurs. Winston looks at the nearby jump hurdle with what Will can only interpret as skepticism. “Come on. This way Uncle Jack can’t say we didn’t try.” 

Will walks over to the hurdle and sets the bar at a low height. As he does so, he watches Dolarhyde run Blake through the end of an (intentionally) nearby course. The intensity radiating off Dolarhyde makes Will’s hair stand on edge. He gets up and shakes it off. 

Winston stands beside Will, looking at the low hurdle. Will signals for Winston to sit and stay, before making his way to the other side, treat in hand. “Come here!” Winston steps over the hurdle slowly and is rewarded with a treat. They repeat. And again, this time with Will saying “Jump!” as Winston steps over the bar.

Will is about to set the bar at a larger height when he hears a loud groan. He and Winston turn to see Dolarhyde, looking at his stopwatch with his teeth bared. Blake paces, clearly agitated. Dolarhyde barely moves a muscle before Blake quickly resets himself at the starting point. Will doesn’t like this at all. 

\-----

Will’s attention is so trained on Dolarhyde that he doesn’t notice the eyes attentively watching him. 

Hannibal is seated on the sidelines with Anzu. They had arrived very early and had already accomplished a considerable amount. Thus, Hannibal is rewarding Anzu with a break. And if that break so happened to align with Will’s arrival in the ring... Well, perhaps Hannibal deserved a reward too. 

Hannibal watches Will set the hurdle bar too high, too quickly. 

_ Impatient. _

Winston predictably walks around the hurdle instead of jumping over it. And again. And again. And again. And agai- Ah wait, no. This time Winston crawls under the bar. But unlike Dolarhyde, Will does not get frustrated. He laughs. Hannibal finds he enjoys the sound of it. 

He suspects it is simply because there is so little laughter around this community, excluding Mason’s horrific atonal squeals of course. Hannibal has always found laughter - when honest and spontaneous - to be rather musical in nature. He wasn’t alone in this thought. Samba music often utilizes a friction drum called a “Cuíca” that produces a sound quite similar to laughter. He thinks about telling Will this. He wonders if Will would look as irritated by that as he did when Hannibal had taught him about the Hokkaido breed. 

Hannibal smiles but quickly dismisses the thought. That would not make for the most natural of conversation starters. 

Will steps over the bar himself this time. Then tries to get Winston to follow.

_ Clever.  _

But Winston crawls under the bar once more. 

Hannibal stands up, and puts his suit jacket back on. He’s hardly going to leave it behind to get drooled on - or worse - by some canine (or Verger) less well-behaved than Anzu, is he?

\-----

Will looks toward the weave polls with dread. He can’t even get Winston to jump. Jack is going to kill him. If Will doesn’t kill himself first, that is. 

Just as Will starts spiralling into an internal rant of how ridiculous this all is, he hears Mason’s distinctive voice greet Dolarhyde. He watches the two interact out of the corner of his eye, hoping for something,  _ anything _ , of use to this investigation. Will closes his eyes, tries to overhear, and fantasizes about how great it would be if Mason could just say “Gee, Francis, I so appreciate you killing all those people for me. Excellent work there, really.” Francis would reply “It was no great effort on my part, I enjoy murder” and Will could pack it up and end this charade here and now. 

Will sighs. They’re just talking about Mason’s business. Will’s frustration builds. These men disgust him, but this is a waste of time. Neither of them  _ fit _ . Will can’t explain why, but they just don’t. Their guy is someone else, their guy is-

“If I may offer some friendly advice, your bar is set too high.” 

Will startles out of his reverie only to be blinded by the pattern of another outrageous three-piece suit. 

“And hello, of course. Rude of me not to begin with that.” Hannibal Lecter smiles affably at Will. 

At least Will thinks it’s affable. Why is it so hard to tell with this guy?

“Hi.” Will offers, lamely. Still thrown by the man’s presence and dress. 

Hannibal notices Anzu’s fixation on Winston and reigns her in quietly. “I apologize for intruding, but I couldn’t help but notice your attempts to train Winston on the hurdles. Too much, too quickly.”

Will unsurprisingly finds himself annoyed once more. “With all due respect, Dr. Lecter, Winston has jumped tree stumps, bushes, logs, you name it, far higher than this.” Hannibal’s face turns unreadable once more. Will continues, “He just needs to get used to the environment, it’s too hard for him to concentrate in here.”

“That may be so, Mr. Harris-”

“Will.”

Anzu crouches at Winston and wags her tail. Hannibal again reigns her in before inclining his head at Will.

“Will. But regardless of Winston’s doubtless impressive abilities in your countryside domain, none of the objects you listed provide the option to crawl under them. Mr. Hobbs also ran into this problem, I believe. A solution he utilized was putting multiple bars on the hurdle, which then takes away the crawl option. And at the point when Winston becomes habituated to jumping over the hurdle, you may remove the lower bars.” 

Hannibal smiles once more, satisfied with himself. But Will had stopped listening after being grouped with Garret Jacob Hobbs. Hannibal, Mason, Francis...they were all the same. Categorizing the competitors into the haves and the have-nots. The elite and the hicks. Will had experienced enough of that in his life, thank you. 

Will takes a step closer to Hannibal, who doesn’t budge. “You know what-”

Suddenly Anzu leaps at Winston, pulling Hannibal into Will’s personal space. Will sees something flash in Hannibal’s eyes as he begins to shout something in what Will can only guess is Japanese. Will panics, about to jump in the middle of a dog fight, when he sees both dogs are just rolling around. Hannibal’s command dies on his tongue and Will sees the tension leave him as it leaves himself. Whatever was in Hannibal’s eyes is gone - which makes Will realize he’s staring at Hannibal’s eyes. And Hannibal is staring back. 

Will laughs nervously and steps back out of Hannibal’s personal space.

“Do you mind?”

The question throws Will. “What?”

“I can tell her to stop.” Oh. Will looks to the two dogs, happily jumping around. It’s nowhere near as rough as Winston and Max play. They’re fine. 

“Will?”

Oh, he thought he had said that last thought out loud. Oops.

“No. No, uh. Winston’s fine.” Will sees Winston playfully nip at Anzu’s pristine coat and wonders if Hannibal was just being polite. Plus, he probably thinks Winston has fleas or something. “I could tell Winston to...if you want-”

“I see no need.”

“Oh.” Hm. 

Hannibal and Will watch the two dogs play for a minute. 

Will turns to Hannibal, who is looking at the dogs with... curiosity? “Um. You said, uh, multiple bars, right? To block out the... crawl space?”

Hannibal’s attention is drawn back to Will. “Yes. Of course he still might try to walk around it, but you seem to have gotten him out of that habit already. Leaving him with no other choice…”

“But to jump.” 

Hannibal nods. “I like to cook.” Will looks taken aback, so Hannibal continues forward. “Would you like to come over for dinner on Sunday? I live nearby.”

Will appears even more taken aback. “Uh. Thanks. But I don’t think so. Pretty long drive from my place.” 

“Of course. Perhaps another time.” Hannibal says something else to Anzu in Japanese. She untangles herself from Winston. “Good luck with your training.” 

“Thanks.” The moment Hannibal and Anzu start walking away, Will realizes his mistake. If Jack finds out that an established, potentially useful member of this community invited Will over for dinner and Will said no…

Winston whines, watching his new friend leave. 

Fuck. He really didn’t want to do this.

Just as Will is about to call after Hannibal, the man in question turns around and starts walking back. Huh. 

“I realize I didn’t clarify. I’m throwing a dinner party on Sunday with many of the competitors. It would be a good way to get to know the people with whom you will be spending so much of your time.”

Will can’t help but smile slightly at what Hannibal is really saying.  _ It wouldn’t just be me _ . At least they’re on the same page. 

“You are more than welcome to bring your girlfriend as well. Alana, was it?”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah, okay. We’ll be there.” 

“Wonderful.” Hannibal takes out his business card and writes on the back of it. “My address.” That glint in his eye returns as he hands the card over to Will. “Please arrive at 7:30.”

“7:30. Got it.”

He nods to Will and leads Anzu away once more. Hannibal takes a moment to revel in pride at his imminent victory against Mason. However, the feeling doesn’t last long. 

Hannibal, much to his own surprise, finds he is looking forward to Will coming to his dinner for other reasons.


	7. Chapter 7

Will and Alana stare up at the imposing brick residence belonging to one Hannibal Lecter. The building seems to loom over them, seeming eager to swallow them whole.

Between controlled breaths in and out, Will wishes the earth would swallow him whole instead. The music and chatter coming from inside the house doesn’t help.

“So… divide and conquer?” 

Will looks to Alana and smiles mechanically. “Divide and conquer. But if you see me struggling, please feel free to break with the plan.” 

“Hey, that goes both ways,” Alana smirks. 

Will’s smile is a little less mechanical at that. He sighs and rings the doorbell. 

The doorbell doesn’t finish ringing before the door swings open and their host is before them. 

“Will. Alana. So happy you came. Please come in.” He smiles and gracefully gestures for them to enter. 

“Thank you for the invitation,” Alana graciously responds for the both of them. Will’s mind is currently elsewhere. 

Hannibal has chosen a deep purple velvet suit for the evening. 

A full suit. Made of velvet. 

Will tries to avoid the thought that he himself is underdressed for the party. Tries instead to think that Hannibal is once again overdressed and over-the-top. But it’s difficult when Hannibal’s home seems to match him in every opulent regard. 

Alana and Hannibal exchange small talk as he guides them through his home. The sounds of conversation intermingled with the strings of Mozart’s “Dissonance” get louder as they enter the living room. 

Will is pleasantly surprised to see the Hobbs’ here and unpleasantly unsurprised to see Mason and Francis. Mason is conversing with a short stout man he doesn’t recognize and a woman who Will guesses is Mason’s sister… Margot, he thinks he remembered Abigail saying. Meanwhile, Francis is deep in conversation with another man Will doesn’t recognize. This one young, but confident. Possibly just a plus one of Francis’ and not a competitor, but Will thinks it is more likely that he just hasn’t been paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should have. 

Almost on cue, Will feels a hand on his shoulder and almost jumps. 

Hannibal feels Will tense beneath him and releases his hold. “Will, there’s someone I’d like you to introduce you to. I have a feeling you’ll get along.” Hannibal looks in the direction of the Hobbs’, who are talking to a nervous-looking man Will knows he’s definitely seen around the ring. And he’s brought his dog, so Will can’t say he’s upset at the idea of meeting him. “And I don’t like to break up a couple, but I think you’ll very much like Margot, Alana.” 

Hannibal looks far too amused for Will’s liking but Alana seems to trust it. “It would be a pleasure.” 

She raises an eyebrow at Will and makes her way to Mason’s circle. Will lets himself be guided toward the Hobbs’. On one hand, he feels like this is another slight of Hannibal’s, grouping him with those he doesn’t deem fit to socialize with his fancy friends. On the other hand, Will would much rather talk to Hobbs, Abigail, and this stranger’s dog than any of the other guests. 

“Will, this is Peter Bernardone. And you already know Garrett Jacob Hobbs and young Abigail, I believe.”

“Hi, Will!” Abigail cheerfully greets him.

Will greets the Hobbs’ with genuine pleasure. He goes to shake Peter’s hand, but Peter backs up slightly and looks down at his dog. Will gets it. 

“Nice… nice to meet you. Th-this is Riley.” Peter gently strokes his Irish Wolfhound.

Will bends down to greet Riley and looks up to Peter as he does so. “May I?” Will waits for Peter’s nod before petting Riley happily. Peter smiles too. Maybe this party wouldn’t be so bad.

_ You are not here to have a good time, you are here to look for suspects. _

Will shakes away Jack’s voice and stands back up, only to see Hannibal looking smug. It’s amazing how much he’s grown to hate that face in such a short time. Being grouped with the Hobbs’ felt like a dig, now grouped with Peter it feels like a different sort of attack. Being categorized by means was one thing, but being categorized by neurodivergence was another. 

It’s what he hates the most about working at Quantico. People look at him as either a tool to be used or a subject to be studied. With the stress of this case, he had forgotten an important part of Hannibal’s file. The reason why he was  _ Doctor _ Lecter. 

Psychiatrists aren’t innately bad. But Will has only met one he likes. And that’s because she treats him like a person — most of the time. Will can’t help considering that Hannibal’s profession might have been a strong factor in his stance against dismissing Hannibal as a suspect, despite there being almost no evidence against him. He supposes he’d better try to put that aside. 

But then again… that expression is so goddamn smug. 

Will is about to say something he’ll probably regret when he hears laughter coming from Alana and her group. Will sighs. If she can suffer the Vergers with a smile on her face, then the least he can do is talk to people he actually likes… sans Hannibal, of course. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I must check on our dinner. You’re in very good hands, Will.” Hannibal turns and exits as quickly as he came. 

_ Well, that solves that problem, _ Will thinks with a smirk before turning back to his group.

Abigail jumps in, “So how’s Winston doing? I saw you guys working on agility stuff the other day. Did you figure out…”

\-----

The sound of Abigail’s voice fades as Hannibal makes his way into the kitchen. He immediately gets lost in the aroma originating from his oven. The cassoulet is coming along quite nicely. Perhaps another ten minutes or so. 

Hannibal removes his jacket, gently hanging it on the coat rack in the far corner of the large room. Now — the salad. 

The cassoulet does not need accompaniment, it contains all necessary components of a wonderful meal. Hannibal is, however, a showman and most of his guests are probably ignorant of the hours that went into such a seemingly simple creation. An artfully arranged salad nicoise should help counteract any incorrect assumptions of those less knowledgeable of the culinary arts. 

Hannibal’s mind drifts to Will. His dinner parties always impress, but he somehow has a feeling that Will will only increasingly resent his efforts the more lavish they are. 

Hannibal remembers the challenge in Will’s eyes earlier. He decides to replace the olive oil with truffle oil. 

One of the many things Hannibal excels at is judging social compatibility. He seemed to have success where Alana and Margot are concerned. He imagines their laughter might have been coming from the fact that Margot’s Irish Setter is named Alana. As to Will, he seemed to enjoy the Hobbs duo, as well as Peter and Riley, and yet he had looked at Hannibal with such disdain… Hannibal honestly hadn’t meant any insult and he struggled to understand where he had taken a wrong step. That being said, he cannot bring himself to regret the perceived slight when his mind drifts back to those eyes. Hannibal finds he wants Will to like him… but the current situation is not without its own rewards…

Fava beans. That’s what he was missing. 

Hannibal obtains the missing ingredient and begins arranging the salad in a way he suspects Will will find impractical. He smiles. Lettuce, fava beans, black olives, boiled eggs, capers, anchovies, and finally, garlic. Not exactly a romantic dish. But he imagines that will not be a problem for Will and Alana anyway.

He intuitively looks toward Anzu’s bed. Hannibal likes to share his wit with Anzu while cooking and often looks to her for affirmation even when not speaking aloud. It is therefore disappointing to find her bed empty, although not entirely surprising. She enjoys socializing and there is a room full of less familiar guests nearby. 

He tries not to take it personally. 

_ DING! _

Hannibal checks on the cassoulet once more. Perfect. Just as he removes it from the oven, he hears his front door open and close. His eyes jump to the clock on the oven. 8:00 P.M.

Late. 

Hannibal removes his apron and walks out of the kitchen, making a mental note to garnish the cassoulet and add the truffle oil to the salad before serving. 

He spots his latest guest about to enter the living room, but not before spotting Will in the corner with Anzu. 

_ Traitor.  _

“I hope you don’t mind… I let myself in,” Bedelia confidently meets his gaze.

“Not at all. You look lovely as ever.” And she did. Hannibal was choosing to emphasize that fact instead of his own ire at her tardiness. Best not give her what she wants. 

She looks him up and down, likely noticing his lack of jacket. “Still cooking?”

“Just putting on the finishing touches. Care to assist?” Hannibal holds out his arm. 

Bedelia links her own. “Gladly.”

\-----

Will watches them disappear into the kitchen. He doesn’t know how he found himself in this corner with Hannibal’s dog. He’s not exactly surprised though. Parties ended up like this for him more often than not. 

In his defense, he  _ had _ gotten some good work done before winding up here. He had learned that the Hobbs’ were hunters, which unfortunately added to their pile of suspicious factors. He had also talked with Randall Tier, the young man who had been chatting with Dolarhyde earlier. He was, in fact, a competitor, not a plus one. He seemed to have Dolarhyde’s intensity, but he hid it better. There was something else about him that Will couldn’t put his finger on… he was hiding  _ something _ . But that could be said for everyone in this room. Well, everyone but the man Will was inhabiting the corner with. 

Peter Bernardone was his idea of good company. The two had been sitting together quietly, occasionally petting Anzu and Riley. Peter was definitely not a killer. It was nice to have one person, besides Chilton, he could confidently cross off his mental list. 

“Peter, who did Hannibal just go in the kitchen with?”

“Oh, th-that’s Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier.”

“Doctor? Does she work with Hannibal?”

Peter shrugs. “Maybe, maybe they met that way. I don’t know much. They’re friends.”

“Just friends?” 

Peter shrugs again. Will’s not really sure why he’s focusing on that bit anyway. 

“She’s a competitor, right? I think I’ve seen her around the ring.”

Peter nods excitedly. “Yes. She’s got a beautiful dog. Beautiful. Ariadne. Pretty name too. We’re in the same height category.” 

Will looks at Peter’s ginormous dog and then remembers Bedelia’s Airedale he’s seen around. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah. They don’t have enough dogs to add another height category at the top, so they just group all the biggest together. I wish they didn’t.”

“Why? Doesn’t it give Riley an advantage?”

“She’s bigger but not as q-quick. Ariadne always wins agility. You don’t have to worry about that, you just have to worry about Anzu.”

Will raises his eyebrows in question.

Peter ducks his head shyly, “I’ve seen your dog. Very nice pattern. Same height category as Anzu.” 

Will smiles. Peter looks slightly relieved and continues, “What’s their name? If you don’t mind-” 

“Winston.” 

Peter matches Will’s smile. Will’s mind goes back to Bedelia. “Has she been competing for long? Bedelia, I mean.”

“Longer than Dr. Lecter. Longer than me.”

Will wants to ask more. He’d only seen her talking to Hannibal for a minute, but he knows he did not like what he saw of her. Facts always had to catch up to feelings, in Will’s case. He needs a solid reason not to like her. He just doesn’t know what to ask to get it. 

It doesn’t end up mattering anyway, because a second later, Hannibal walks back in sans Bedelia and plus jacket. 

“If you’ll all follow me into the dining room, dinner is served.”

\-----

Will supposes dinner was going more or less okay. These people have known each other for years, so there were no awkward silences or forced conversations like the ones that usually accompanied dinner parties...i n his experience. Of course, it is equally likely Will’s presence just tended to cause those sorts of things. 

He had, however, been sat next to Hannibal for some reason. 

And Alana is all the way at the other end. 

And Bedelia is across from him. 

And if he suspected he didn’t like Bedelia earlier, now he is certain of it. That being said, he still can’t find a solid explanation for it. Her familiarity with Hannibal annoys him for some reason, but that’s not exactly a crime. 

Will tries to shake her from his mind. She likely isn’t a solid suspect. Nor is Franklyn Froideveaux, the stout man conversing with the Vergers earlier, who is now also on the far end of the table away from himself and Hannibal. 

Neurotic, sure, but so is he. So is Peter. But Franklyn is a patient of Hannibal’s. And that can potentially be of use. Despite Alana’s and Jack’s lack of enthusiasm for the idea, Hannibal is still very much a suspect in Will’s book. The dinner hasn’t helped ease that suspicion. Especially with how closely Hannibal has been observing Will’s observations all night. 

Speaking of which, he can feel his eyes on him now. Will decides the best course of action is to address it, even silently. So he turns to face Hannibal head on. 

Hannibal does not flinch. Just keeps staring. Will looks down. Dammit. 

Hannibal leans toward Will slightly, clearly not paying attention to the story Mason was currently regaling the table with. “Are you not enjoying your meal, Will?”

Will looks down at his quarter-eaten cassoulet. “Uh, no, I am. Sorry. It’s delicious.” It was, much to Will’s irritation. “Social events just aren’t really good for my stomach.”

“A pity. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” Hannibal smirks yet again. 

Will’s too distracted by Bedelia’s obvious eavesdropping to question what exactly Hannibal meant by that. 

“Hannibal’s cooking can be a little exotic for some,” Bedelia chimes in, amused.

Hannibal’s face betrays no irritation. Will feels it anyway. 

A predicament. He doesn’t want to defend Hannibal, but he also wants to knock down Bedelia a peg or two. Who in this couple does he resent more?

“I grew up on cassoulets, they’re far from exotic.” Hm. Bedelia. Will would not have guessed that. 

Bedelia takes a long sip of wine in defeat.

Hannibal leans an inch closer. “Where did you grow up, Will?” 

“Louisiana.” 

“Of course. Cassoulets are a wonderful dish with endless variety. You can use any meat and it will create something new and intoxicating each time.”

Bedelia scoffs. Hannibal ignores her, continuing on. “I would love to try a cajun cassoulet. Do you cook, Will? Or does Alana?”

Shit. They had been separated all night, Will had almost forgotten they were pretending to be a couple.

“I cook. She does too. We both cook.” Will figures that’s a safe bet. He thinks Alana cooks. Hopes Alana cooks. She’s cooked for him before, hasn’t she? Damn it.

“An equal partnership.” That amused look is back on Hannibal’s face. Why?

Bedelia cocks her head. “How long have you two been together?” 

Will is momentarily grateful to Bedelia for asking something he actually remembers. “Two years.” 

Hannibal and Bedelia share a look Will doesn’t understand. He was getting sick of not understanding them.

“And you two, how long have you been together?” Will asks with a little more bite than he intended. 

Hannibal’s face changes slightly. 

Bedelia answers slowly, “Hannibal and I are friends and colleagues, nothing more.”

“Oh.” Will had misread the situation. He isn’t used to that feeling. At least that’s what he assumes he’s feeling right now.

“Of course, I’m so glad you, Will, and the others, are here, Alana.” 

Will turns when he hears his name leave Mason’s mouth. 

Mason continues. “We could use some fresh meat with all the disappearances lately.”

Margot looks annoyed. “Mason.”

“What? I’m just addressing the elephant in the tomb. Room. Sorry.” He laughs obnoxiously as some of the others squirm in their seats.

Will takes note of who. 

Alana leans forward, “It’s so awful. Do you think they’re connected? Someone taking down competition?”

Will remembers his role and jumps in, “There’s no conspiracy, Alana, relax. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” He feels Hannibal’s eyes boring into him. He ignores it. “Who would want to kill a bunch of dog show competitors?”

“I can think of a few…” Margot mutters. 

Francis, who had been silent most of the evening, suddenly jumps in. “The only type of individual who can’t see a connection is one who doesn’t take what we do here seriously.”

Francis caught the bait. Will presses on, “I’m sorry, but have some perspective. This isn’t exactly an important enough event to make you targets for anything.” 

Will senses the discomfort around him… but not from Mason, Bedelia, or, of course, Hannibal. 

Francis is fuming. 

Will continues, “I mean, come on, what is it? Three people? Over three years? In Baltimore? The media’s just bored.”

“Two years,” Bedelia says, clearly enjoying this. Will hides his annoyance. He was hoping Francis was going to correct him.

But he leans forward towards Will imposingly anyway, “And you would know that if you knew anything about this community.”

Will leans back and laughs, “You really think someone would go  _ that _ far?”

Francis seethes, “I don’t expect some nobody with a flea-bitten cur to understand.” 

Will hears a laugh, Mason was clearly loving this exchange even if no one else was. 

“Mr. Dolarhyde.” Will looks to his right to see that Hannibal’s face has unexpectedly darkened. “Friendly competition is natural amongst us. Even not-so-friendly. But I will not tolerate that level of incivility at my dinner table. Please apologize, so we can continue on.”

Will stares at Hannibal in surprise.

Francis scoffs. “You disappoint me, Dr. Lecter. You’d take your act this far just to try to win a bet?”

Mason leans forward eagerly, “Oh there’s no more ‘trying,’ Francis. I’d say Hannibal’s won fair and square.”

Mason rises and walks over to Hannibal and Will, putting his arms around the two. “Very sorry for doubting you, Hannibal. You really are capable of making nice with the philistines.” Hannibal looks taken off guard for once. Mason reaches into his pocket and takes out a dollar bill and places it in front of Hannibal. “Here ya go, debt settled.” He pats Hannibal on the back and sits back down.

Will just stares into his increasingly unappetizing food. “Did you… bet on whether you could befriend one of the charity competitors?” 

“Will, I-”

Mason interrupts, “Well, don’t be bashful now, Hannibal. You’re free!” 

Hannibal stares daggers into Mason. 

Will doesn’t notice, his vision too clouded. Alana walks over to Will and lays her hands gently on his shoulders. “We should probably leave.” 

Hannibal jumps in, “Please, you shouldn’t be the ones-”

“No, I think that sounds just great. Thanks for the meal.” Will rises and marches out, Alana quick on his heels. 

Hannibal hears the door slam. He stares down at the dollar, thinking of increasingly creative uses for it. 

“So… anyone up for Scattergories?” Mason beams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Will's views of Bedelia are his own and do not reflect that of the author, who thinks Bedelia is a queen.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn’t great, Will had to admit. He really couldn’t say he was surprised by the look on Jack’s face. Or Chilton’s, for that matter. 

Jack stops glaring at Will and Alana to look back at Chilton. “There must be something you can do, Dr. Chilton.”

“I’m afraid not. I can do a lot, but I can’t keep in ‘competitors’ who don’t know what they’re doing. Unless you want me to start bumping off  _ their _ competition.” Chilton looks pointedly at Will and Alana. “But that’ll cost extra.”

“Do you think that’s funny?” Crawford barks. 

As Crawford continues his tirade on Chilton, Will and Alana share a look. It is somewhat their fault. Somewhat. 

After the turbulent night at Hannibal’s, neither Will nor Alana had been particularly keen on returning to the practice arena. Alana had gotten over it after a few days, but Will managed to convince her that he could just train Winston and Applesauce at his house instead. Will needed a break from those people. 

But the week away hadn’t done them any good. Will was still boiling with anger and their dogs didn’t get the practice they needed. When the first round of obedience and agility came along, Alana and Applesauce scored so low that they got eliminated. Will and Winston had only fared slightly better, barely making the cut to proceed to the second round of both categories. 

“AGENT CRAWFORD.” Will is pulled out of his reverie by Chilton’s exclamation. Crawford, surprised, ceases his verbal assault. “I have been completely cooperative at every turn. I have given in to your every absurd request. But I cannot — I will not — alter the judge’s scores post-competition.”

“That would look pretty suspicious, Jack.” Alana says, gently. “I was only going to be a believable competitor for so long, you-”

“I KNOW THAT.” Jack takes a breath. “I just assumed you two would be further along in the investigation by the point where that started to matter.” 

“Hmm. From what I hear, all Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Don’t-Look-At-Me have been able to do so far is alienate the suspects,” Chilton smirks. “Perhaps you ought to rethink your strategy, Agent Crawford.”

“Will. Alana. Let’s go.” Crawford stands and walks out. 

Will and Alana go to follow him but are stopped by Chilton. 

“Mr. Graham. A word before you go?” 

Will nods to Alana, who takes her leave. 

“What?”

“Hannibal Lecter asked about you last week.”

Will scoffed. “What’d you say?”

“That as far as I knew, you were still registered but that I didn’t know, or care, more than that.”

“Is that all?”

Chilton sighs and walks over to his desk.

“After the competition, he gave me this.” Chilton pulls out an envelope with Will’s (fake) name written in calligraphy across the front. “Said he, quote, knew it would be impertinent to ask for your address, but would I please pass it along myself, unquote.”

Will looks down at the envelope, now in his hands. Will knows nothing about paper, but it feels expensive. He flips it over, revealing a seal. A wax seal. With what appears to be the Lecter family crest on it. “Okay.”

Chilton rolls his eyes.

Will tries again. “Thanks. Why the secrecy? Why not just give it to me earlier?”

“Agent Crawford doesn’t exactly inspire a ‘safe space.’ I don’t know how much you told him about your little dinner.”

Will and Alana had told Jack everything significant that occurred that evening. New suspects to add to their board, such as Randall Tier. Ones they could likely dismiss, such as Peter Bernardone. What new information about current suspects they had gathered, like what the Hobbs’ do in their free time. And a recap of how their prime suspect, Francis, behaved while pushed about the disappearances. Jack was also given a concise version of how it had ended. Jack hadn’t been thrilled, but for once it wasn’t actually Will’s fault, so he couldn’t blame him. In fact, he had considered the night to be very helpful for the investigation, even if it resulted in Will and Alana keeping to themselves for a week. 

But Will hadn’t told Jack that the day of the first round, Hannibal had tried to talk to him. Twice. 

He’d successfully dodged him both times, but Will would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thrown off by the whole thing. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the intention. Hannibal probably just wanted to spook him so he’d mess up during the competition. Will would get thrown out, Hannibal would be proven right about him, and he’d never have to see Will again. 

Will’s barely latent anger rises to the surface once more. He pockets the letter roughly.

“I told him enough.”

Chilton nods. “One more thing...” he says, almost despite himself. Chilton breaks off into a groan and massages his temple. 

“I have to get going, Frederick-”

“I don’t know why Hannibal Lecter is so interested in you, but I would be careful,” he finally spits out.

“Careful?”

“It’s just better not to be the center of that one’s attention.”

Will nods. He senses that Chilton isn’t going to say anymore about that, but he opens his mouth to try anyway. “Wh-

“WILL!” 

Chilton startles at Jack’s bellow from down the hall.

“You should go. I’ve had enough of that today, thank you.”

“Well. Thanks.”

Chilton waves him off. Will walks away, unable to get his original suspicions about Hannibal out of his mind.

\-----

_ Dear Will, _

_ Please accept my sincerest apologies for my guests’ behavior, and for my own. While I cannot excuse our actions, I will attempt to explain mine. Unfortunately, many of my fellow competitors and associates (for that is what they are) are of a certain social tier and believe this makes them superior to others. While I may share a similar tax bracket with them, I do not share their beliefs. While I know you have no reason to trust me, I can only ask that in time you may instead know me well enough to believe this of your own accord. _

_ I did make a wager with Mason Verger, and for that I am penitent. However, if you may excuse the small defense, I found his words were quite misleading the other night. There was no duplicity or falsehood in my wishing to befriend you. I was simply trying to extinguish Mason’s offensive assumptions and demonstrate how unlike him I am, in actuality.  _

_ That all being explained, I understand if you wish to dissolve whatever cordiality exists between us, but please know I never wished you any discomfort or embarrassment.  _

_ Regretfully, _

_ Hannibal Lecter _

Will blinked down at the beautifully-scripted letter, having read it six — no, seven? — times. The only thing he seemed to understand was how much he did not understand Dr. Lecter. Was this part of Hannibal’s game? Was there another bet? If the contents were at all true, what was the point of writing it? Will barely knew the man. Why was Chilton warning him about Hannibal’s attention?

_ YIP! _

Buster and Zoe were playing too rough. Will tried to shake Hannibal from his head. He had a vicious, tiny dog fight to break up after all. 

\-----

Another week passes before Will finally returns to the arena. In his defense, things had actually been busy at Quantico. Some background checks had led to the dismissal of both the Hobbs, as well as Franklyn Froideveaux, as suspects. They were all out of the area when the disappearances occurred. Franklyn was never a serious suspect, so Will didn’t think much of that particular rule out. He was, however, grateful that he could be friendly with the Hobbs without nagging suspicion hanging over them. 

But Jack was getting impatient with Will, even if he didn’t say it. So here Will was. Back in the belly of the beast. Alana came too, thankfully. But, unlike Will who was still stuck competing, Alana was now allowed to ‘relax’ and socialize with some of the less terrible people here. Will thinks he remembers her walking off with Margot Verger and Alana The Dog somewhere. 

Will watches Winston run around the see-saw. He’s terrified of that thing. 

These past several weeks Winston has gotten pretty okay at most of the agility obstacles. Okay enough to get him to qualify for the next round, although that wasn’t saying much. Winston had just beaten most of the other ‘for fun’/charity dogs. The charity dogs and their owners had all performed a bit better in obedience, but the only charity entries that had made it to round two of agility were Will and Abigail. And Will knew as it currently stood, he would not get to the final round. 

Especially if Winston kept refusing to go on the see-saw. He had run up once… not prepared for it to fall back down. Ever since, he had avoided that thing like the plague. 

Whatever. Will didn’t need to make it to the final round if he could figure out who their (likely) killer was beforehand. But that was a big  _ if _ .

Will runs his hands through his hair in frustration, noticing Hannibal Lecter staring at him as he does so. Great.

The only consolation is that Hannibal for once seems like he hasn’t already decided on a course of action. He looks almost uncertain. Almost. 

Will waves awkwardly, not knowing what else to do. He immediately regrets it when Hannibal starts walking over with Anzu. 

“Hello, Will.”

“Hi.” Will somehow manages to make the greeting sound sarcastic.

“How are you?” 

“Oh, I’m doing just fine.” The sarcasm fit that one way better.

“Good.” 

Will had never seen Hannibal look so...it didn’t seem like it was possible, but...awkward? Will finally felt like he had the upper hand and he wasn’t going to let that go.

Hannibal has run out of small talk. “Did you get my letter?”

Winston and Anzu start playing together again in the middle of Hannibal’s question. Will sighs. Okay. Maybe he can let it go a little.

“Yeah. Thanks. It was nice.”

“I would just like to say in person, as well, if you’ll allow me... I am not at all proud of what occurred and I am very sorry for any discomfort you were put through.” 

“Perhaps you should consider using your apologies more sparingly.”

“I do. Which is how you know I mean it. Or you would know, if you wished to continue our association and know me better.” Hannibal smiled slightly.

He seemed a lot more at ease all of a sudden. Well, the upper hand was good while it lasted. 

Hannibal presses on, “I can even help you train Winston, if you’ll accept my help. I wish to make it up to you, Will.”

Will shook his head. “Can I just… ask…”

“Anything,” Hannibal quickly swoops in. 

“Why go to this length? We barely know each other. Why bother?”

“I was rude. My guests were rude. That is unacceptable to me. It is unacceptable to me that you should have such an ill and inaccurate impression of me.”

No… there was something else there. Will couldn’t put his finger on it but… “That’s only half an answer.”

Hannibal looked slightly amused. “Oh?”

“Everyone judges everyone without knowing them. Why do you care that I, in particular, have an accurate judgment of you? Why do you want to be my friend so badly?”

“Friends are better than enemies.” Hannibal smiles mischievously.

“Hannibal.” 

Hannibal’s tiny smile goes away. His face shifts to a more contemplative mode. 

Will holds his ground as Hannibal stares unrelentingly, seemingly through him. 

Finally… 

“You’re interesting. I like interesting people.” 

Oh, good. He was just another weirdo for Hannibal Lecter, M.D. to collect. 

Will’s patience runs out. “Sorry to say the feeling’s not mutual. I don’t find you that interesting.”

“You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw sorry I'm so bad at responding to comments regularly, but just know that I see everyone who comments and they make my day


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